


Eliot's No Good Very Bad Day

by Lady_Starhawk



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Starhawk/pseuds/Lady_Starhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to figure out where he was and how to get back to his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eliot's No Good Very Bad Day

Title: Eliot's No Good Very Bad Day

Author: Lady Starhawk

Rating: PG

Warnings: Nope (Maybe spiders, if you're sensitive to those things…and it's a little cracky)

Summary: He had to figure out where he was and how to get back to his pants.

Betas: Kamelion and Medie Shanachie, thanks Ladies!

Eliot knew it was going to be a bad day when he woke up tied to the bed naked as the day he was born.

He had run a side-job over the weekend. Nate had given them the weekend off, but an old employer had contacted him with a job, and he could never say no to a damsel in distress. Although this time, in hindsight, he probably should have.

The job had actually gone rather well. He picked up the merchandise and delivered it with only having to throw a total of two punches. Boring, yeah, but things were never boring with the team, so he relished an easy job for once.

The delivery went off well also. He met her in an Irish pub in Boston, and they might have drunk a little too much. There was even a brawl that broke out between a couple of brothers that managed to encompass every able-bodied man in the place. Eliot had enjoyed himself immensely.

His employer had left with him and they went back to the hotel room he had rented. He had a history with her; business, with benefits (he just couldn't call her a friend). He must have been drunker than she was though, because when he cracked his eyes open in the morning she was nowhere to be seen.

His legs were tied very well, as was his right hand. But she had left him an out. There was a tiny bit of play in the ropes tying his left hand. This wasn't the first time in his life that he had ended up tied up, and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.

It took him a while, the sunlight outside the window showed that it had been mid-morning when he woke up and it was probably right around noon by the time he got his hand free. It was raw and bleeding from the ropes digging into his skin, but in a pinch blood could actually be used as a lubricant to help slide out of the bonds, depending on the kind of rope used.

He made quick work of the rest of the ropes and sat up slowly. He definitely had a hangover. He stood up and headed to the bathroom to get something to wash away the furry creature that had taken up residence in his mouth. He took three steps and managed to stub his toe on the leg of a chair.

He hopped on one foot for a second, and then sat down in the offending chair. He moved the digit around to check the damage, and felt a bit of a crunching. He sighed; broken toe. He bit his lip and set the bone back into place. There was a roll of scotch tape on the desk the chair should have been sitting under. He took the tape and taped the broken toe to the next toe in line. Just gonna have to deal with that until it heals.

So with blood drying on his left wrist and two toes taped together he made his way to the bathroom. He slipped getting into the shower and caught himself on the shower curtain bar. He eventually regained his balance and the room stopped spinning, when the bar gave way and he fell out of the tub and smashed the back of his shoulder on the toilet, and his head on the garbage can. He lay there for a second before getting his senses about him, enough to try and stand.

He then filled the sink with warm water and grabbed the washcloth. He was able to finish washing up without any further damage. Although the soap burned his wounds and he left the towels bloody. He made it back out to the main room. He needed to bandage his wrist and find some clothes.

He went back to the bed and reached under the pillow, hoping that his knife would be there. He felt a tiny sting on his thumb and brought out his hand. There was a cut across his thumb, as if made by a knife. His knife. He ripped the pillow off of the bed, and his knife was sitting there, with just a tiny bit of blood on the tip.

Venting his frustration he used the knife to cut two strips from the sheet off of the bed. He wound one around his wrist and tied another around his bleeding thumb. Now that he was no longer leaking blood, he could set about the task of finding his things.

He searched the hotel room but wasn't able to find his own clothes. He did, however, find a bag in the back of the closet. He set the bag on the bed and opened it up. There was some kind of purse on the top with chains for a handle. He set that aside. He then pulled out a t-shirt that said, "real men wear skirts" in a plaid font. His heart sank. He pulled out a green plaid kilt and a leather belt. A pair of motorcycle boots that were just a little bit too big completed the ensemble. Not a purse then, it was a sporran.

Eliot sighed. It was either look like a Highlander reject, or a motel towel; not much of a choice. Fortunately, he had worn a kilt as part of a job almost a decade ago, so he basically knew how it went. He had to cinch down the belt a bit because it was sized for someone a little bit bigger than he was, but once he got it on, he didn't look quite as ridiculous as he thought he might.

He was now as dressed as he was going to be. He thought about calling the team for a lift. But he wasn't supposed to be working side-jobs right now; he was supposed to have been taking a well-deserved break.

He sighed and started out the door. He had to figure out where he was and how to get back to his pants.

The team was assembled and waiting. It was noon, and Eliot had yet to show up for the briefing. The team had been given the weekend off after a long con had gone down well the week before. They had another client on the line and were ready to start their job.

Nate was pacing the conference room. Sophie was reading the newspaper. Hardison had the laptop open and told Nate he was farming gold until they started. Parker had the remote to the six giant television screens in the conference room, and had them all on a different show. Nate had asked her earlier if she could just watch one and Parker had responded that she, in fact, needed to watch them all at once, because they were there and she didn't want to miss anything.

Sophie told Nate to leave her be until Eliot got there so they could start. Parker smiled and continued watching the televisions while drinking the coffee Hardison had made earlier before their meeting time.

After dinner Nate started getting a little worried. It really wasn't like the hitter to not even call if he was going to be late. He told Hardison to put a trace on Eliot's phone. He wanted to know where the heck their hitter was.

Eliot walked down the street ignoring the looks he was getting from the people he met. He wasn't in the mood to even glare at them.

As he walked he felt something hit him in the shoulder. He looked up and saw there were a couple of kids ducking back into an apartment from the balcony. Eliot reached up to see what had hit him; he discovered something warm and sticky. At first he hoped it was just spit, but as he pulled his hand away, it was much thicker than mucous should be. "Gum," he growled and did his best to remove his hand from his hair and the gum.

He ignored it for a few minutes until he located a convenience store. He slipped into the restroom. As he turned on the light, he saw things scurry into the shadows. He shrugged and went over to the mirror.

He was able to work most of the gum out of his hair, but there was a spot that was horribly sticky and tangled near the end on one side. Eliot took out his knife and started cutting it out. Once he got the gum cut out he decided to try and even out his hair. It wouldn't be the first time he had given himself a haircut with this knife. He was glad that he had curly hair, because he wouldn't have to make it even, just close.

Eliot stepped back to look at his new shorter haircut, when he heard a crunch and felt something move on his ankle. He looked down to see there was a pile of spiders crawling all over his boots. He kicked out, trying to dislodge them, and some started running up his leg. He lashed out again and stomped his feet, stepping on some of the arachnids in the process. They crunched satisfyingly under his boots, but he could feel an uncomfortable tickling sensation on his inner thigh.

He lifted the kilt and swatted at the offending spider that had nearly made it all the way up. It flew across the room and into the wall. Eliot stepped back towards the door and did his best to compose himself. Most of the surviving spiders had dispersed back into the darkness. He still had the creepy-crawlies going on, but he checked to make sure that there weren't any more actually on him.

He slammed open the door and stalked out. This was worse than that job he did in Australia. At least there the spiders ate each other, so they were as big as birds, and he only had to deal with one at a time.

"It must be broken, man, I can't find it anywhere." Hardison was frantically hitting keys trying to find a trace of the hitter somewhere in cyberspace. "The phone won't turn on and none of his financials have been touched. His passport hasn't been dinged anytime recently either. He hasn't been anywhere on the grid for nearly a week."

Nate put a hand on the hacker's shoulder. "Relax, Hardison. We'll find him." He turned and faced the window, asking over the comms, "Parker, have you found anything at his apartment?"

"His security system needs to be updated. This stuff is SO last year."

"Parker." Nate tried not to get too upset, but keeping these two on task was sometimes more than he could handle.

"Okay, um, his overnight bag's gone, but the rest of his stuff is still here. He's got milk and fruit in the fridge, so he wasn't planning on being gone long. And the security system was turned on three days ago and hasn't been turned off since."

"Thank you, Parker. Come on back."

He turned back to face the living room and Sophie handed him a mug of coffee. "This just isn't like Eliot," she said sitting down on the couch and tucking her legs underneath her. "He's always so professional. I don't think I remember him ever missing a meeting on purpose."

Nate nodded. "But there hasn't been any ransom and Hardison can't find anything in INTERPOL or the FBI databases. He hasn't been arrested, and so far as we can tell, he's not being auctioned off to the highest bidder of his enemies."

"He could just be having sex," Parker said through the ear buds. "He does that, you know."

Sophie smiled and tried not to laugh, "He's been missing kind of a long time, Parker, if he was with a woman he would surely be done by now."

Nate shook his head and wished for some whiskey for his coffee.

Eliot really wished that he had taken up his buddy Scott's offer of a job in Australia. A little sand, a little surf, girls with killer accents. Sure it was dangerous, and he would be retrieving from someone who didn't just want him detained, he wanted him dead. But it would have probably been better than this.

As he finished his walk of shame, he had a bucket of mop water thrown at him, soaking his kilt, and making him smell like a wet sheep. Then he tripped over a small dog and turned his ankle in the too big boots. Plus the owner of the mutt had the audacity to hit him with her purse and scream at him for hurting her "widdle Fifi".

He could see the apartment building in the distance. He had a spare set of clothes in one of the apartments in Nate's building. He was just three blocks away, when she happened. Nadia. A supermodel that he dated a few years ago. They had some good times, and some really good times, but he had to break up with her because of a mission he was going on in Myanmar that would probably be pretty long-term. He looked down and prayed she didn't see him. But lady luck had definitely left without him.

"Eliot?" she questioned walking up to him, "Eliot Spencer?" She blocked his path. His mama would have his hide if he weren't at least polite to her.

He looked up, and gave her his biggest smile, "Nadia, what a pleasant surprise." He took her offered hand and kissed it. He didn't miss the look in her eyes as she took him in and probably smelled him too.

"Likewise. What are you doing in Boston?" She took a step back and Eliot was almost grateful.

"Taking care of some business. You?"

"Same." She looked at her watch. "It was good to see you, Eliot, but I really must be going." She waved at him and turned to leave as fast as she could. Usually there would be some small talk and a booty call, but as Eliot turned to watch her go he caught his reflection in the window. His hair was choppy, his clothes didn't fit, he had a bandage on his arm, there were welts on his legs from the spiders, and he was limping from the broken toe and the turned ankle; add to that the wet sheep smell from the kilt and he wouldn't have talked to himself either.

He put his head back down and plowed through the growing crowds back towards the safety of the apartment.

Fortunately Hardison had set up the building to be keyless; so finger swipes, retinal scanners, and key pads were the way to get in. He had made it to the floor that Nate's apartment was on without incident, when he saw the door to Nate's place open. He heard Sophie's voice, saying, "I'll just go pick something up then."

He tried to make it around the corner and up the next flight of stairs, when he heard a gasp. Busted.

"Eliot?" a tentative voice sounded from behind him. "Did you get a haircut?"

He stomped up the steps. "I don't want to talk about it."

He heard the rest of the team enter the hall as well. "Eliot, stop."

"No, Nate. I just want to forget today ever happened."

He made it two more steps when Parker's voice sounded, "You made me worry about you."

He stopped at that and turned around. Parker was out in front of the group and looked genuinely concerned. However, Nate and Hardison looked like they were barely concealing their laughter. "If I so much as SEE a camera, I will break your mouse finger, Hardison," Eliot growled.

Sophie moved a step closer. "Now, Eliot, why don't you come into Nate's apartment and tell us where you've been?"

Eliot was starting to get frustrated. He motioned with his hands. "I just want to find my pants. Is that too much for you people? Up there," he pointed in the direction of up and behind him, "I have pants. I am going to go and get them and put them on. I will come back down in the morning and play twenty questions," he growled and turned to continue up the stairs. Unfortunately, he forgot about the loose board on the sixth step up, and put his foot right through it.

That was the last straw for the hitter. He had been captured, tortured, shot, starved, humiliated, and interrogated, but today, he had had enough. Nate and Parker ran forward and helped Eliot dislodge his foot from the hole he had just made. They walked him into Nate's apartment and sat him down on the couch.

Sophie sat in front of him on the coffee table while Nate went to go grab the man some coffee and an icepack. "Now, Eliot, why don't you tell us what happened."

He sighed; he wasn't going to be united with pants until he told them the story, so he related everything that had happened since he woke up that morning. He finished the tale with "And now, I am going to move to Australia."

Sophie put a hand on his knee and smiled. "You know all of those things can happen to people in Australia, right?"

Eliot mumbled something and took a long drink from the coffee mug.

"What was that?" she asked all sweetness and sunshine.

"Can I put on pants now?" He felt like a child whining like that, but today had been a horrible rotten no good horrible very bad day and he deserved a little whining.

"Yes, Eliot." Sophie laughed a little. "You may go put on pants now."

He stood up and turned to head to the door.

"Not yet," Hardison said as he stepped in front of the hitter with his phone. He snapped a picture, then ran like hell.

Eliot turned to start after the hacker, but his body protested the sudden movement. He decided to verbally taunt him instead, "You better run, boy. Because when I'm through with you, YOU'RE the one who's gonna need to move to Australia."

Eliot headed up to the apartment he kept in the building. He would plot his revenge tomorrow. Today, he just wanted to take a shower, and find some pants.

**Author's Note:**

> Written: February 23, 2010


End file.
